


Apocalypse

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, M/M, Not Trespasser Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas- no, Fen’harel- stares back, and for a moment she sees his hand twitch. A temptation, perhaps, for him to move forwards. Instead, he drops it again and folds his arms across his chest, raising his chin. In that move, she no longer sees the hedge mage she’d known, the man she’d once loved. She sees a God, someone who’d had power unknown to even the most powerful of the world’s mages</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apocalypse

It’s the end of the world.

Ellana stands among the chaos around her, staring at him.

Solas- no, _Fen’harel_ \- stares back, and for a moment she sees his hand twitch. A temptation, perhaps, for him to move forwards. Instead, he drops it again and folds his arms across his chest, raising his chin. In that move, she no longer sees the hedge mage she’d known, the man she’d once loved. She sees a God, someone who’d had power unknown to even the most powerful of the world’s mages.

Footsteps pound behind her and her brother stares at her former lover for a moment, wide eyed, before he turns to her. His hand clasps around her wrist, and she snaps from her reverie. Their eyes meet and he sighs.

“Dorian’s evacuating everyone from Skyhold. We’re safe from our ‘Gods’ for now,” Mahanon says. She lets out a breath and reaches for his hand, needing the comfort he always offered her, the same comfort she’d received as a child trying to recover from a nightmare.

Solas speaks up, “Inquisitor, if you don’t leave now, you will likely die. You’re unsafe. Leave. Please.”

She recognizes his tone, the masked worry, but her brother is hearing none of it. He storms across to him, none of the fear she’d expected the Clan’s first to experience in his demeanor, before poking him square in the chest.

“Who are you to talk of keeping her safe, _Dread Wolf?_ ” he sneers the name, and she sees the man in question flinch.

“Who are you to plead for her safety when you are the one who endangered it in the first place? You released ancient Elven Gods from a prison you trapped them in, apparently for the safety of the People, and when you realize that perhaps, oops, that wasn’t a good idea, you tell her to run? You’re a damn coward. And she is not like you. Unlike you, she won’t run from her responsibilities. She’s standing here to protect her people from you and your friends, and while I don’t agree with that decision, I respect it.”

And in a moment, he punches him- the Trickster himself- to the ground. She sees the shock cross Solas’ face before he rises easily. Rage and pain fill his expression, and the huntress quickly moves in front of her brother, a barrier. She feels, rather than sees, him roll his eyes. Solas’ eyes lose their ire and leave only raw, open wounds.

“I won’t question why you chose this path. You knew them and I see now the reasons you shut them away. I don’t understand why you let them out again, and I can’t trust it’s the right decision because I don’t trust you, frankly. But you won’t hurt my family, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stand with the Inquisition.”

He barks out a laugh, a bitter, grating sound. Mocking, she realizes, but also forced, “If I know what’s _good_ for me? Inquisitor, you are no longer in charge of me. You are simply a little girl attempting to stop us from returning to our former glory.”

“A little girl? You, of all people, know I’m no innocent flower, Solas! You’re the one who bedded me and took away quite possibly the last innocence I could claim, _hahren_. Under a false name and with false love.”

She feels her brother tense behind her and presses her fingers into the palm of his hand. A light tap, reassuring. She has it under control.

Solas steps back in shock, looking as though she’d hit him with lightning. As though that may hurt less. She feels a compulsion to reach out and comfort him, but stands her ground. She is the Inquisitor. She is strong. She will not bow down to him, God or no.

_What we had, was real._

She shakes her head against the unwelcome thought, and opens her eyes again.

“I can’t leave. I won’t leave,” she turns to her brother and hugs him tightly, kissing his cheek.

“Go on. Be happy with Dorian. Remember, if you ever decide to acquire a child, I expect you to call it Ellana. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter,” she hears him give a choked laugh in response to that, and she strokes the short hairs at the back of his neck before pulling back. Tears fall down his face and she gives him a smile she hopes appears strong.

“You’re not dying, Ellana,” he whispers, and she knows it’s more to try and comfort both of them than because he actually believes it. They’d been together since the womb, he’d accompanied her everywhere and both had only survived the Conclave as he’d split from her to check on the halla a few miles out. Her best friend, her twin brother, the one person she’d always been able to depend on. She thanked the stars- not the Creators, never again the Creators- for Dorian. At least they could be happy together, at least he had someone he could be with.

She watches him leave and lets a few tears escape, along with choked sobs. She makes sure to remove the evidence before she turns back to Solas, though from the look on his face he had noticed. Muffled though they were, Elven hearing often lead to everything being noticed.

He sighs, pleads with her again, “ _Vhenan_ , please. Leave. They _will_ ki-” he breaks off as another walks into the clearing, Ellana turning so that both are in her sights.

A woman walks into the clearing. Her hair is braided back off of her face and upon her back is a bow and arrow- grander than Ellana had ever seen. She glances over her with a critical eye before turning her gaze to Solas, a smirk twisting her lips.

“Vhenan? Brother, you have grown _soft_ in your old age,” she murmurs, voice like honey as the language of the Ancients passes her lips. The knowledge of the Well translates it for her, lets her understand as if it were Common. Solas’ lips tighten, a growl coming from somewhere deep in his chest. Ellana has only heard a sound like that leave him once before, in the grips of passion, one more playful than the one leaving him now. This one, this is a warning.

“Leave, Andruil. I’m sure you have much larger worries, working with the others in a futile attempt to destroy the shemlen,” he replies smoothly, and Ellana swallows. Andruil, the one she’d once dedicated herself to. Even with her markings long removed, she still feels the phantom markings along her cheekbones, forehead, chin. The woman in front of her simply smiles, stepping behind Ellana and pressing a knife to her throat faster than the young elf can blink. She gasps, tries instinctively to get away from the blade. This only places her further into the goddess’ grasp, giving her a firmer hold and easier target.

Solas’ eyes widen in terror, and she sees small wisps of flame forming between his fingertips as he assesses the situation, attempts to find a way to get the woman off of her without hurting her.

“Why don’t we start now, brother? She is a shemlen, is she not? Not human, no, but she shan’t live forever,” the blade presses further into her neck, and she gasps at the sting as a few scarlet drops of blood escape. Solas lets out a soft breath, but nothing more.

He sighs, “She is not one of the People as we knew them, but she deserves to live nevertheless.” Andruil simply laughs again, leaning close into Ellana’s ear.

“He can never truly love you, da’len. Your entire lifetime is but a blink of an eye to him, barely a second. And that’s not even looking at his selfish nature. He only cares for himself.”

Ellana’s eyes snap shut and she bites her lip in response, waiting for something, anything. The sweet release of death, perhaps, or even more taunting. Instead, she simply stands in the still silence for a few moments, before she feels the brush of the Fade around her. Gentle and soft at her edges but apparently sharper than she’d thought, as within seconds Adruil’s blade is knocked to the ground, the goddess falling back shortly after. Ellana gasps in shock and moves back, Solas going to step in front of her.

“You will _not_ whisper your poison in her ears, sister,” he sneers the word, and Ellana shrinks back at the power rolling of him. “You will leave. Now.”

The woman stands and backs off slowly, glare firmly fixed on her face.

“I _will_ come back for her, Fen’harel. You know as well as I that I never give up on a hunt. And the shems do scream ever so prettily,” her smile to Ellana is feral, terrifying, before she backs off. The young elf falls to her knees, watching her leave. Solas kneels in front of her, reaching for her hands before seeming to think better of it and moving backwards.

He lets out a soft breath, “You should have left when I asked you to.”

She feels indignation well up inside of her, and glares up at him.

“Have you already forgotten whose fault this is?” she asks, and he blinks at her, hands wringing awkwardly in front of him. So far is he now from what she remembers, the confident apostate who walked with a sway in his hips. He looks awkward, younger, and she finds it hard to connect the man in front of her with the man she knows- either from the legends or from what she knew.

“I know it’s my fault. But… I _had_ to, Vhenan. For the People. Haven’t you seen how far we’ve fallen?” he looks to earnest. So desperate for her to understand.

It just makes her angrier.

“So you thought that instead of helping, instead of sharing the knowledge of how things used to be, you’d bring back the Old Gods? How, dare I ask, does that work? I’ve just met the woman I pledged my life to when I turned eighteen and she _tried to kill me_. I see now that the Dalish were entirely wrong, but you already _knew_. Releasing them was just… it was _moronic_!”

He pauses and stares her down, his eyes studying her face. And yes, this is more like the Solas she knew, always looking for explanations and answers in the subtle lines of her face.

He reaches forwards and places a hand on her face, “I didn’t know how, Vhenan. And I didn’t want to die alone.”

Her anger dissipates immediately. She remembers the graveyard in the Fade, their names inscribed upon them.

_Solas- Dying alone._

She pinches the bridge of her nose, the pressure of tears beginning to build behind her eyes. He purses his lips and turns away from her then, as though ashamed of admitting any weakness. Her hand rises to rest against his cheek, head tilting to the side.

“You wouldn’t have died alone. _Fenedhis_ , Solas, you had all of us. Cole, Dorian, Varric, they all considered you friends,” she pauses, swallows. “You had me.”

His eyes move upwards, focusing on her face, and his mouth opens and closes slightly. He looks down and then back up again.

“Ar lath ma. You know that. But… Vhenan, you are not… some of what Andruil said was true. Not the ridiculous notion that I can’t love you, I do, more than I thought possible. But you will live a comparatively short life and you will die and I just… I can’t… without them, I would have died alone. It is a selfish notion, but I needed to. Above that… I truly do want the best for our people. I hoped bringing them back may restore our former glory, restore our lifetimes… but time had made me forget the less desirable traits. I didn’t hold my brothers and sisters on a pedestal, but I forgot just how awful they could be.”

She stares at him in the wake of his confession. He is right, of course, she will die far earlier than he. He would have died alone. And she understands, in part, his fear of that. She moves forwards, all but sitting on him, and leans their foreheads together.

“Solas, would it truly be better to have them here, destroying everything, than dying alone?” she asks, and he looks up at her. Her free hand, the one not resting on his face, tangles with one of the ones hanging limply by his side. “They’ll kill all of us, don’t you see? And you may have them forever, but is it worth it?”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Vhenan. I went into uthenara with my People finally free and prospering and woke to find you all wandering forests or trapped as servants to humanity. I thought I’d freed you all from the tyranny of my brothers and sisters, but in reality I’d just made it worse. Do you know why you’re not immortal? Because your ancestors grew so sick and tired of being forced into eternal service of the shemlen that they cursed themselves and their descendents to have mortal lifespans. So that you wouldn’t spend thousands of years bowing down to them. And I don’t know how to break it! If I’d just stayed there a little longer, helped bring order, perhaps the Tevinter Imperium would have been defeated They wouldn’t have needed to curse themselves, and it must have been strong magic to baffle even I. But no, everything is lost. And it’s _my fault_. I left, subjected myself to my self-loathing and went into uthenara so that I didn’t have to admit to myself what I was. _Harellan_. Traitor. I was young, I was cocky, and I thought I’d saved lives. I left all of you to a fate worse than death, Vhenan, and your ancestors hated me so much for it that they told stories of me laughing manically over the bones of our people.”

She stares at him, then, but shakes her head in disagreement, “What we need to do right now is save the People. And I don’t mean those Gods out there. We need to save those who have been struggling to survive, who have become second class citizens. And we can’t do that with them walking the earth.”

He shakes his head, “Ellana, I can’t. It took too much to take them out, I’m drained I…”

She holds up her left hand with a small smirk. The glow emanates from it, just a brightly as ever, and he looks up at her face, eyes shining.

“I’m going to lose them again. Vhenan I…” he pauses, breathes. “It’s the right choice.”

He reaches forwards, about to place his hand in hers, wanting to start the process as quickly as possible.

The arrow comes out of nowhere, lodging itself in her heart.

He moves forwards immediately, catching her in his arms. She stares up at him, blood gargling up her throat. He tries to summon healing magic, but he knows as she does- this is the end.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she whispers, and he wants to tell her to save her breath, to tell her it’s not worth it. But she doesn’t let him, raising her still-glowing left hand to touch the side of his face. He feels the power of it merge with his own, strengthening him, and he swallows against the lump in his throat.

“Ma emma lath,” he whispers in return, pressing his lips to hers as she feels the last of the power and life leave her. He pulls back and looks at her, pulling the arrow from her chest with a growl. He knows who sent it, there is no doubt, and he turns towards the forest, power surging through him, long forgotten and stronger than ever. Andruil saunters out, hips swaying with the power and confidence she adores so.

“Sickening display. You really have gone soft, brother. And stupid, once you always knew where I was. It was almost too easy. But I can’t have you putting us back in that mirror, we have business to conduct here. To start with, we need all our slaves back in our hands, away from those shemlen.”

He feels his fury swell at her words. Had he truly forgotten how cruel his sister was?

“Too bad you won’t be there to get yours, sister,” he growls, his form shifting immediately to a wolf, tearing out her throat before he shifted back, pressing his palm to her head. She falls back with a gasp, lifesblood pouring from her, and he moved back to his haunches, mouth twisted in a snarl.

He vows then that he will kill every one of the damned Creators, that they are no more his people than the modern elves. He had found his lethallan in the form of a little Dalish girl, the only one he had felt true companionship with in his entire life, and she was now lost to him. He moved back to her body, pressing his hand over her heart, wishing he could feel its’ beat.

“I will put them away again, ma vhenan. I will help our people, I will stop them ending the world. I’ll try and break the curse and teach the true ways. And I will do it in your name,” he lifts her up, then, closing his eyes in order to take them to his temple. When once he’d had to walk, he now had the luxury of this magic, his power having returned to him. And not in the form of foci, either, it is within him. More potent.

That night, as he watches her body burn in the pyre he made, turning to ash, he turns his head up to the sky and prays to a Maker he doesn’t believe in to keep her safe. If nothing else, it gives him a piece of mind.

His dreams are not peaceful, as the demons dance in his mind in her form.


End file.
